What We Take With Us
by Ridley C. James
Summary: Episode tag for 2:14 Mardi Gras Beads & Chair. Mac and Jack discuss the real reason Duke Jacoby took that mission in New Orleans, along with parade throws, marshmallows and baby alligators. Hurt comfort and fluff ensues.


What We Take With Us

By: Ridley

A/N: So some very awesome reader asked if I might do a bit of a tag for Episode 2:14, Mardi Gras Beads + Chair and though I hadn't planned on it, I thought I would give it a shot. It wasn't a hard sell as New Orleans is one of my favorite cities to visit. There's not much of a plot here, just a bit of fluff, really, more of a conversation piece with a little hurt comfort thrown in for fun, but I hope you enjoy it just the same. Thanks to Mary who worked her magic on this. Mention of Doc Carl and Nurse Sally is credited to Poxelda. Boxer and Coop belong to Gib.

RcJ

They were somewhere over Texas when Mac stirred, shifting restlessly. Jack looked up from his phone, the soft whimper instantly drawing his attention to his partner who was sleeping in the seat across from him. His virtual game of Battle Ship with his old Delta buddy Boxer completely forgotten, Jack shifted, pushing himself up in his seat so he could get a better look at the younger man. They had the shades drawn, the cabin dim as no one had gotten much sleep in the last twenty four hours. Even in the half light, Jack could make out the lines of pain and distress distorting Mac's pale face, and his gut twisted.

One glance down the aisle told Jack that Matty was nowhere to be found. He was grateful their director was in the front of the plane, out of sight and hopefully beyond her bat-like hearing range. She would have loved to point out that Jack's knee-jerk reaction was a bit like a momma dog upon detecting the distress cry of one of her pups. Maybe the thought should have been a bit chagrining, but Jack couldn't help his instinct to search the area around them for any signs of a threat. It was a conditioned response and he supposed if he'd been canine, his ears and a tail would have been pricked in anticipation, head dropped slightly, teeth bared emitting a low warning growl.

Mac's head rolled to the side, his bandaged hands twitching on his lap where they lay propped on a rolled up blanket, eliciting another low moan, his forehead furrowed. It was nothing like the startled cry he'd given when the adrenaline rush had failed him back in the crematorium but it was enough to set Jack's nerves on edge. Jack had seen his partner in pain before, but having Mac drop to the ground, literally rolling around in agony was a first and not by any means an experience he ever hoped to witness again.

"Easy now." Jack moved quickly. He closed the distance between them hopping on one foot, dropping into the adjoining seat as he gently wrapped his hands around Mac's wrists to keep the kid from banging them in any way that might bring more pain.

Jack hadn't realized how Mac had hurt himself at first, or to what extent. He'd still been reeling from his near death experience, adrenaline and fear a piss poor cocktail that left him hyped and shaky and uncommonly focused on his own welfare. For a moment, he'd been unable to grasp what Mac had done to get him out. Only when he'd dropped to his knees beside his best friend and seen the way Mac's hands were curled close to his chest, the way the kid's eyes were screwed shut, his breathing shallow and how he was practically shaking with pain did the pieces fall into place.

In Afghanistan Jack had once seen a gunner injured in a similar way after he'd drug his driver from a burning Humvee following an IED explosion. It hadn't been pretty when the soldier's initial shock had quickly worn off and the wounds on his hands made themselves known. Mac's cries in the crematorium had echoed that misery and it had torn at Jack in a way he hadn't experienced since the nightmare which was Cairo.

The tiny part of Jack that wanted to completely panic anytime the kid was hurt had tried to rear its ugly head but he managed to wrestle the fear under control, tamper it with training that demanded he stay calm. Jack had pulled his partner against his chest, giving him whatever stability and comfort he could which considering Mac's reaction wasn't much. He'd counted on Matty having a team right behind Mac and prayed there were some medical staff included, swearing under his breath when his steady stream of assurances had done little to reach through Mac's anguish. Jack had felt damn helpless as he'd held his partner, instructing him to try and breathe through the pain. His own hurting feet a small echo of the agony Mac had to feel. When help finally showed, Jack had never been so happy to see a medic and a loaded syringe.

Jack's morose thoughts were brought back to the present moment when Mac wriggled in his hold. "Hey, Mac. You're good."

Mac's face screwed up in pain, his breath hitching. Jack tightened his grip just as his partner awoke with a gasp. "It's me," he said quickly, hoping to head off any struggles neither of them were in any shape to manage.

"Jack," Mac's voice was rough, eyes somewhat unfocused as he turned towards the older agent. Whether the kid's pupils were blown wide from pain or the drugs in his system Jack wasn't sure. Mac and pain meds didn't mix well on a good day, but his stubborn partner hadn't even offered to refuse the heavy dose the medics insisted upon while treating his burned palms and fingers. "You…"

"I'm okay," Jack finished, knowing what the kid was going to ask. It wasn't hard to figure out what monsters might be roving through Mac's ginormous brain. Watching your best friend be kidnapped and then nearly burned alive wasn't something one could easily put in a box and place on a shelf, even for the master of compartmentalization himself. "We're both okay, bud." Jack inclined his head to Mac's hands. "Mostly."

"Right." Mac rested his head against the seat with a heavy sigh, his eyes closed once more.

"You hurtin'?" Jack knew it was a stupid question, but was still compelled to ask.

Mac gave a slight shake of his head, licking his lips before speaking. "I thought you were gone…back there. When Riley located the sudden heat source, I thought I was too late, that I'd lost you."

"I have to admit I was feeling a bit like toast myself." Jack let go of Mac's wrists, easing back into the seat by his partner. He studied the younger agent's face, surprised by the unusual candor. It wasn't like Mac to admit weakness or open the door for a chat about the great fear they shared, which was failing the people they loved. Jack forced a grin, noting his partner's glassy, vulnerable gaze. "But you pulled my ass out of the fire-literally this time, brother."

Mac didn't even smile. "I let you get taken, too."

"Dude," Jack turned so that he was facing Mac. "That wasn't your fault." He couldn't help but to think back to the words Matty had said to him when Mac was kidnapped by Murdoc, the way he'd immediately discounted her assurance, even if the attempt had been appreciated. "There was nothing you could have done. Half the Crescent City was gunning for Jacoby. If you'd been there sooner they would have taken you, too. Then where would we have been? Who would have crashed the car into the building and wrestled the burning coffin bare-handed? I can guarantee you Matilda Weber would not have done either." Jack lowered his voice on the last part, just in case Matty was in range. "She's not big on spur of the moment, risky rescues in case you haven't noticed."

"I'm beginning to hate them myself." Mac closed his eyes for a moment once more, taking a steadying breath. When he looked at Jack again, he appeared a little more with it, steadier, back to his shielded self.

Jack patted his arm. "Nah, that's just the pain talking."

Mac's gaze went to his mummified hands. "How long since my last round of meds?"

"We've only been in the air about an hour." Jack had an emergency stash of the good stuff, along with standard Ibuprofen in his go bag. He was usually the one trying to convince Mac to stay ahead of the pain, that there was no need to tough it out when they had modern medicine at their disposal. The fact the kid was willing to indulge, had his chest tightening once more with guilt which quickly morphed to a wash of anger.

"Let me ask you something. Did you not think about trying to make something like a make-shift potholder?" When Mac gave him an incredulous look, Jack's frown deepened. "Don't give me 'the you're being ridiculous, Jack' look. I've seen you make crazier things, brother. Why not improvise by taking that stupid jacket off and wrapping your hands before you pulled me out? It might have saved you a layer of skin."

"This is my favorite jacket, and I wasn't exactly thinking," Mac admitted quietly with another grimace as he shifted the hands in question.

"That's a first." Jack knew that wasn't exactly true. He was pretty certain Mac hadn't been using his brain the time he'd jumped out of Jack's car and rushed inside his house when Murdoc had Bozer, or when the kid had waltzed right into Murdoc's trap when the man had managed to capture Patty, Riley and himself to use as bait. More recently there was the unplanned trip to Paris and the incident with the nerve gas, but Jack wasn't about to kick the kid when he was down. Instead he took a measuring breath and narrowed his gaze at his partner. "I hope you aren't taking Nana Beth's whole spiel about the apple not falling far from the tree thing to heart. Imitation is not the finest form of flattery in our line of work, bud. I'd prefer if I was the one who let his emotions get the best of him."

Mac's mouth twitched with a shadow of a smile. "I can't 'Jack-Gyver' something every once in a while?"

"Not if following my lead lands you in a world of hurt." Jack smirked, running a hand down his face. He was pretty sure their roles hadn't gotten reversed too often lately. "Next thing I know you'll be skull-crushing the bad guys, and we both know your head is much more a weapon of finesse than one of brute force."

Any smart-mouthed reply was interrupted when Mac clenched his jaw, squeezing his eyes shut as he drew his hands up closer to his chest. His breathing altered to shallow and controlled. Jack watched helplessly, rethinking the actual harm of giving the younger man more meds.

"What can I do, kiddo?" He asked, squeezing Mac's shoulder in a reassuring manner. He knew that if Matty had anything to say about it, they'd be heading to Phoenix medical as soon as they landed. LA was still a couple of hours away and Doc Carl wouldn't appreciate Jack acting as a qualified pharmacist, but any long-winded speeches on the physician's part or disapproving side glances from his sidekick Nurse Sally would be a small price to pay. Jack just wanted to stop the pain.

"Tell me about Duke." Mac said a bit breathlessly, shooting Jack a look that could only be described as frayed and a bit desperate, completely un-Mac like.

"What do you want to know about the late Mr. Jacoby?" Jack wasn't kidding when he'd said he'd hated the particular cover, but he'd humor Mac if it helped him to shift his attention from his misery. If a story wasn't distraction enough, he was going for the drugs, best medical practices be damned.

"Did he, I mean _you,_ really dump those guys in a swamp?"

"Yeah, looking back on that it probably wasn't the nicest choice, I mean, for the alligators at least. They deserved better." Jack grinned at Mac. "A couple of bullets would have been the most humane for all parties involved in the long run."

"After what they tried to do to you, I'm not going to disagree." Mac winced again and Jack really longed for the ability to go back in time and make a different choice where the two thugs were concerned.

He rolled his shoulders, trying to release the building tension. He lifted a brow at Mac. "You know those guys love marshmallows."

"The Barbosa brothers?" The pained frown on Mac's forehead deepened in confusion.

"No, Einstein, the gators." Jack rolled his eyes. "Duke Jacoby had this sweet little place on the water in Lafitte. I used to sit on the dock at night and feed the gators bags of marshmallows at a time. I had a few babies that would take them right out of my hand."

"You're lucky they didn't take a finger or two." Mac shook his head, repositioning his hands on the rolled up blanket. "Horses and dogs are one thing, but man-eating reptiles, well…"

"Kid, I could have spent my leisure time mud wrestling one of the fifteen foot bastards in the swamp and still been playing it safer than some of the risks I pulled off when I was undercover as Duke." Jack shifted slightly in his seat, the dull throbbing picking up in his slightly singed feet.

Mac gave him a thoughtful look. There were still deep lines of pain around his eyes but at least his breathing had returned to normal. "Let me guess, you chose _Duke_ after John Wayne?"

"Well, New Orleans after Katrina hit was a bit wilder than the Old West." Jack had to admit the kid knew him too well. "I wasn't exactly sent in to clean up the gunslingers and outlaws, but at times it seemed that way, so Duke was fitting."

"How _did_ you end up with that job?" Mac frowned. "I thought you mostly worked out of the country during your time in the CIA? Noble cause or not, it just doesn't seem like your sort of mission."

"I volunteered, actually."

"Wait." Mac's brow rose in surprise and he sat up higher in his seat, his gaze searching Jack's. "What happened to Jack Dalton's hard and fast rule to never, _ever_ raise your hand for an op? The one time that Coop inadvertently said he'd always wanted to see Kandahar and Hammond took that as our unit opting to go, you made him clean all our gear for a week."

"In general I still adhere to that philosophy, but I hated what was happening in the city, that people were taking advantage of an already horrible situation." Jack thought back to the atrocities he'd seen in war torn villages, of the tendency for those hungry for power to often prey on the weak when given the slightest opening. New Orleans had been a bit like an injured animal, one that was easy pickings for opportunistic hunters. He glanced at Mac, shrugging. " _And_ I happened to have had a personal connection to the city."

The kid shifted in his seat, seeming unable to find a position that was remotely comfortable. "How's that?"

"My mother was from New Orleans." Jack leaned over and grabbed the pillow he'd had his bandaged foot propped up on earlier, offering it to his partner. "Did I never tell you that?"

"No, I don't think so." Mac lifted his bandaged hands in frustration.

Jack gestured for his partner to lean forward so he could put the pillow behind him. He knew good and well he hadn't ever told his partner that bit of Dalton trivia because he rarely if ever mentioned his mother for good reason. "Believe it or not, my mom and dad met at the end of Carnival."

"Your parents got together at Mardi Gras?" Mac shot his partner an incredulous glance as he leaned back on the pillow.

"I'm not kidding." Jack laughed, knowing it sounded a bit like the plot to a romance novel, which in a way he guessed it was, only without the happily ever after ending. "My dad was stationed at Kessler Air Force Base in Biloxi, and a few of him and his buddies got leave to go into the city for Fat Tuesday. Man, he loved to tell the story of catching sight of Celeste on the Comus float, where she was serving as a carnival queen."

"Your mom was a carnival queen?" Mac was looking even more doubtful now, as if Jack might have been spinning an exaggerated tale just for his benefit, but at least he seemed to no longer be focused on his pain.

"You bet." Jack nodded. "The Mistick Krewe of Comus is pretty elite, so only the most eligible debutants serve as their queens." Jack had no problem imagining an 18 year old Celeste sitting astride her throne, looking down on her lower subjects and the lesser mortals from behind a bejeweled mask of gilded gold. He grinned at Mac, despite the pang of something like sadness that thoughts of his mother and her aloofness brought.

"My dad chased that float down the street, through the throngs of crowds and revelers begging for her majesty to toss him some beads, doubloons or a coveted cup." Looking back now, Jack marveled at how that impulsive act on his father's part was a perfect metaphor for his parent's relationship. His father pandering for something his mother was always reluctant to give freely. "He later admitted that he had no interest in parade throws whatsoever but was determined to meet the woman who had bewitched him with one smile, swearing she'd somehow used some hoodoo to cast a spell on his heart."

"Are you sure you're not making this up?" Mac's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "We both know Voodoo isn't real."

"Of course it wasn't sorcery, but merely my dad being a sucker for a beautiful woman."

"Definitely something you inherited from him."

"Do you want to hear the story or not?" Jack feigned offense, but knew his partner had a valid point. He was surprised the kid didn't bring up the fact Jack had made plans to have dinner with Dixie Lee when she made it to LA.

"If you just go ahead and admit the truth." Mac said with a hint of amusement, a small grin erasing some of the tight lines around his mouth. He started to pick at the bandaging on of his palms, but Jack wrapped fingers around his partner's wrist and carefully pulled Mac's hand away, wondering at what the kid was going to do with himself and all his nervous energy until he healed. The blond sighed and rolled his eyes at Jack. "The idea of spending months in the Big Easy was too much for you to turn down. Or all your childhood dreams of being the bad ass sheriff in a town overrun with lawlessness was something you couldn't pass up."

"Dude, I'm telling the truth." Jack released his best friend's wrist, giving the sign of Scout's honor. "My mother's family, the Broussards were practically New Orlean's royalty. Ask Nana Beth if you don't believe me. Celeste grew up in the elite Garden district with a silver spoon in her mouth. My dad not only fell in love with Dr. Garrick Broussard the third's one and only daughter, but was instantly charmed by the Crescent City herself."

"But you never mentioned it," Mac looked more than a little baffled now, and Jack supposed his best friend had a right to be a tad disbelieving seeing as how Jack had always been a bit of an open book when it came to the kid. He'd easily invited Mac into his world, taking him to Austin and offering him up to his grandparents much like a blue ribbon he'd won at the fair. He'd proudly introduced Mac to his father, although posthumously in a graveyard on one of their first trips back stateside. Mac had even met Jack's sister and her gaggle of cute kids when they'd blown through Austin one holiday or another. But Jack had never been in a hurry for Mac to meet Celeste, afraid the woman would yet again fail to recognize the value of what was right in front of her. Jack sighed.

"To be honest, I never gave the place much thought before the mission came on the table. Celeste never talked about her home town, and she sure as hell never took us there for a visit, maybe because her parents pretty much disowned her, but my old man would get nostalgic now and then when she wasn't around, telling me stories about the food, and the music. The muffalettas and Po-Boy's from The Camellia Grill, the Gin Fizz from Tujague's. How he'd bribe his CO with the promise of beignets and chicory coffee from Café Du Monde just so he could go into the city to see my mother, and let's not forget the kind of trouble that a twenty one year old kid can find on Bourbon Street." Jack was pretty sure the city had mesmerized his father as much as his mother's beauty had. Jack imagined that for a small town boy from Texas both had seemed completely foreign and exotic. A weakness for women above his boxing weight was obviously something he and Jack shared.

"So when he had to leave he convinced your mom to marry him?"

"Well, I think I probably had more to do with influencing her decision to leave her life of luxury behind." Jack was quite certain his mother had held a grudge against him ever since. Despite the complicated feelings about the woman who'd birthed him, Jack couldn't help to grin as Mac's face actually colored when he realized what Jack was saying. "You see I might have been born in the great state of Texas, but I had my very beginnings in the The Crescent City."

"I guess that's about as personal a connection as you can get." Mac shifted again, making the task look difficult as he couldn't use his hands.

Jack snorted. "Tell me about it, brother."

"So you went to single-handedly rescue New Orleans because in a way she was family?" Mac slumped in his seat, giving up trying to squirm his way into a better position. He gave Jack a knowing look.

"Be careful what you say here because it would be easy to come off as a hypocrite considering the stunt you pulled with the Cadillac and playing hot potato with that coffin."

Mac smirked. "So did you also fall in love with her like your dad did?"

"Not really. I mean, don't get me wrong, the place is magic, the people are strong and resilient, but it sure as hell ain't Texas." Jack supposed he might have felt differently if he hadn't mostly had dealings with the underbelly of the Crescent City, but there were people-like Willy-that had made a good impression. He met Mac's gaze. "Maybe a part of me wanted to understand why it meant so much to my old man, especially after he and my mom didn't exactly have a fairytale life, but I think I got a better understanding of that after my last tour in the Sandbox."

"What?" Mac looked taken aback. "I'll give you that Afghanistan has amazing people and beautiful poetry, but…"

"It's not about the place, brother," Jack interrupted, remembering something his father had also told him about New Orleans. "But more about what you take with you when you go that makes it memorable. Despite what Afghanistan was, I sure as hell walked out of there with something good."

After a long considering moment, Mac lifted a brow. "Wait, did you just compare me to a kitschy souvenir?"

"Not like a key chain or magnet," Jack shrugged, offering his partner his most serious face despite the fact he was pretty certain his eyes gave away the humor he was hiding. "More along the lines of a snow globe or a really nice shot glass. Even better," Jack nudged his partner's shoulder. "A Zulu Coconut!"

"A coconut?" Now Mac looked offended. "I thought I was your boy."

"Damn straight you are. I'll have you know the Zulu coconut is the most prized, coveted throw of the entire Mardi Gras. It's nothing to scoff at. Even better than a Muse's shoe." Jack shook his head with a put upon sigh when Mac continued to frown. "You know what, like everything else about The Big Easy it's hard to explain. Like someone trying to describe kissing or a first solo flight. It's better to experience it yourself."

"I'll take your word for it."

"Actually," Jack sat forward some, an idea brewing. "Seeing as how we didn't' get to do any of the good stuff this go around, and we didn't get much of a Christmas break, I'll just have to make that happen. What do you say? Me and you, some Po-boys and beignets, possibly a few hurricanes of our own on Fat Tuesday."

"I'd say it sounds great but considering Duke's recent demise, showing your face in New Orleans is a problem," Mac pointed out.

"Only Mardi Gras is the one time when wearing a mask is not only legal, but encouraged." Jack bobbed his brows at his partner. "I have it on good authority that Jacoby left his buddy Jack Dalton a sweet little place right on the water in Lafitte. You can cross feeding a gator off your bucket list."

"I'd rather not." Mac gave a slow shake of his head. "Unlike my partner, my bucket list has no insane, bizarre death scenarios on it."

Jack snorted. "So surviving a class five storm in a port a potty wasn't something you were curious about?"

Mac rolled his eyes, fighting back a yawn. "You're never going to let me forget that are you?"

"No, but considering what you went through to save me this time, I might not bring it up in polite company." Jack had never been able to stay mad at Mac for long, but he tried to keep up some pretenses so the kid didn't walk all over him. "Funny thing is, up until the brothers grim nailed me in a pine box and lit me on fire, I really thought the whole being blown out to sea in an outhouse was really the nastiest ways to die."

"I'm glad you didn't by the way-die that is." Mac had rested his head against the seat once more, looking suddenly spent and a whole lot younger than his twenty-six years. The slow blink he gave Jack and the slight slur of his words telling of the fact the drugs were indeed still present in his system and just might-if they were lucky- pull the kid under once more for the duration of the flight.

"I don't want to lose anyone else, Jack. I can't do this without you." It seemed the candor was back as well, along with the exposed emotions in Mac's blue gaze, and Jack understood why the kid so rarely agreed to take pain medicine even when he needed it. "You're the best thing I've brought back from anywhere, too and that's including the piece of meteorite that Harry once got me as a souvenier from a trip to Barringer Meteor Crater in Arizona when I was seven."

Jack's mouth twitched at the atypical confession of affection, but he worked hard at giving a serious nod. "A bonified meteorite, huh?"

"I mean, I know now that it probably wasn't from a real meteor," Mac backpedaled. "Considering he paid maybe two dollars for it in the gift shop where I picked it out of a bucket of like a thousand other pieces just like it, but for a long time it was my prized possession." When Jack could hold back his grin no longer the younger man shot him a glower. "I'm pretty sure it's better than a coconut, Jack."

"I think you should withhold judgment on that until after a Zulu warrior princess tosses you one at Mardi Gras, Mac."

"Whatever." Mac grumbled, closing his eyes.

"Actual space rock or not, I appreciate the sentiment, brother." Jack grabbed the blanket from his adjacent seat, tossing it over his partner. "Now what do you say we both catch some z's before this bird lands?"

Mac's eyes opened to mere slits, but he managed a small smile. "I say I'd rather hear about what you have planned for this big date I heard you asking Dixie Lee on."

"It's _Dawn_." Jack clarified, with a roll of his eyes. He should have saw that coming. When Mac continued to look at him, Jack pushed back in his seat. He carefully propped his aching feet up on the adjacent one in front of him, hunkering down for the rest of the flight. "First, I was thinking about a nice juicy steak, maybe from that fru fru place Firefly that Riley likes, a little wine, some dessert and then back to Casa Dalton for…"

"Don't tell me," Mac interrupted, with a knowing smirk. "A Bruce Willis marathon?"

Jack's grin widened. "How'd you guess?"

The End for now…

In case you're interested and just happen to be passing through New Orleans in the next week or so, Krewe of Muses has their parade on February 8th. As an artist it has a special place in my heart-not to mention, it's an all woman krewe! Go girl power. And the amazing Krewe of Zulu is February 13. If you catch a coconut, let me know! Also, thinking of New Orleans, brought my thoughts to Puerto Rico, whose people are still struggling to recover from devastating storms. Please say a prayer for them.

PS. Who else is excited for the episode tonight?


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